Page 10 of Look on the Heart (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #10)

Chapter Six

A letter from his cousin awaited him when he came downstairs, and Darcy seized it at once. He had been hoping for news for some time. Since the debacle at Ramsgate, his cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, had devoted considerable time and resources to locating Wickham.

“’Tis time, Darcy.”

Richard had looked every bit the colonel that day, standing in Darcy’s study in his scarlet coat, hands clasped behind his back.

“Why do you insist on protecting him? Wickham has never been your friend!”

He had scowled, shaking his head.

“In fact, I believe the word enemy would be the most accurate descriptor. The man weaseled his way into your father’s affections, only to disgrace his memory by attempting to elope with Georgiana.”

“You are correct, Richard. I cannot say what has prevented me from acting. When he came for the reading of the will, I had thought it would be the last we saw of him. That appears to have been wishful thinking.”

Darcy had sighed and leaned back in his chair.

My father would have been ashamed of the man Wickham has become.

He shook off the memory. He and Wickham had not been close since long before they were sent to separate schools, yet somehow, the weasel had continued to insinuate himself into their lives.

The words of a long-ago conversation between his parents returned to his mind. His mother had been correct. By treating Wickham as a second son, George Darcy had allowed his godson to expect an inheritance he was never meant to receive.

Darcy broke the seal and unfolded the letter, hoping at last for news.

Darcy,

I shall begin by satisfying your curiosity, for I suspect you would scan my letter for news of our mutual friend.

I have no word of Wickham, though I have traced him as far as London.

He has likely buried himself deep in the bowels of the city.

It will take some time to discover his whereabouts, but I assure you, I shall find him.

He has been a plague upon you for far too long.

Georgiana, I am sorry to say, is still morose. She moves through my mother’s house as though afraid of upsetting someone. I can scarcely get two words from her at a time. She is reading your letters—do keep writing. Perhaps she will eventually open up and become more like herself.

My mother is attempting to match me with her goddaughter.

Do you recall Miss Prudence Wilson? I used to tease her dreadfully about her freckles.

Well, she is now five-and-twenty with no prospects.

It seems she has turned away more suitors than most, for reasons she refuses to disclose to her mother.

What say you, Darcy? I need an heiress to marry, and I already have a rapport with Prue.

It would allow me to sell my commission.

Prudence is her father’s only heir, as well, which means she comes with an estate.

Something tells me it will not be so simple to secure her hand, however.

Maybe I ought to try for Anne instead. But you would have to secure a bride first, before our aunt abandons her dreams of uniting Rosings and Pemberley.

How are you enjoying Hertfordshire? It is quite different from Derbyshire.

I recall one of my friends, Colonel Arthur Forster , is stationed in a small market town called Meryton.

Is that not near Netherfield Park? If you should happen to see him, give him my regards.

Perhaps I shall take a few days’ leave and come to call. Bingley would welcome me, would he not?

I shall write again soon. With any luck, my men will have news of Wickham’s whereabouts ere long.

R. Fitzwilliam

Darcy folded the letter and sighed deeply.

He had hoped his cousin would report that Wickham had been found and confined to debtor’s prison.

Darcy held a small fortune of markers as leverage.

After Ramsgate, he had personally sought out and purchased as many of Wickham’s debts as he could.

The amount he now held would be sufficient to keep the reprobate imprisoned for the rest of his life.

He found it interesting that his cousin mentioned Miss Wilson.

Richard had protested his mother’s matchmaking efforts for years.

Now, it seemed, he entertained the notion.

The lady in question was not so well-favored as some.

Darcy admired Miss Wilson for her intelligence, but she had never stirred the slightest of romantic inclinations in him.

She will do very well for Richard, he mused— that is, if he can win the lady’s heart .

Darcy knew something his cousin did not: Miss Wilson had turned away her suitors because each had proven to be mercenary.

Another memory assailed him. A year after his father’s death, Darcy had agreed to attend a soirée with his aunt.

There, in the gardens, he had found Miss Wilson weeping.

She had confided in him, speaking candidly of her longing for love.

The encounter had been improper and imprudent, but it had done the lady good, and neither of their reputations had suffered for it.

He wished his cousin the best in his pursuit. He would need it.

A second letter awaited him, and Darcy felt a jolt of surprise upon noting it was from Georgiana. This was the first letter she had written since his departure, though he had sent her a missive every week. Eagerly, he broke the seal and unfolded it.

Dear Brother,

I hope this letter finds you well. I am working diligently as I study with the masters.

Aunt Matlock is ever attentive and oversees my lessons with exacting oversight.

I confess, I wish she were less so, for I feel as though I scarcely have time to breathe.

If it appears I am not sufficiently occupied, she assigns me yet more work.

How I long for the chance to read a novel—or anything besides history and French.

Pray, write to her on my behalf, that I might have some relief .

Hertfordshire sounds lovely. The people you describe appear so diverse and entertaining.

Of particular interest are the Bennets. You mentioned their estate is called Longbourn, I believe.

Is it as large as Netherfield Park? I cannot imagine six ladies in one household!

Poor Mr. Bennet. Do you think he is often overwhelmed by so many females about him?

You must tell me more about Miss Elizabeth.

She sounds delightful. And you say Mr. Bingley is paying her sister great attention?

I cannot imagine Miss Bingley approves. She has longed for a connection to the first circles, and from what I gather, Miss Bennet has none.

I hope Mr. Bingley does not allow his sisters to dissuade him from love.

I am feeling better, Brother. I wish to assure you that I am recovering apace. Thank you for your patience as I do so. If you mean to stay in Hertfordshire for Christmas, perhaps I might join you there.

With love,

Georgiana

Darcy’s heart lifted as he read his sister’s words.

Georgiana would be well. She had learned a hard lesson, but she would be stronger for it.

His sister had inherited their mother’s looks.

Miss Darcy had flaxen hair and a fair complexion, and she was every bit as beautiful as Lady Anne had been.

He had been remiss in her education. Darcy knew he ought to have taught her how to discern those with less than honorable intentions.

Now, it seemed, she had healed enough that he could begin.

He would reply immediately. And perhaps she might, indeed, join me here for Christmas .

Bingley had invited him to stay at least until the new year.

If I mean to ask Miss Elizabeth to marry me, then Georgiana should know her future sister.

The thought thrilled him, and he took himself upstairs to his chamber so he could write to his sister in private.

Dear Georgie,

How pleased I am to hear from you! It sounds as though our aunt has been keeping you busy.

I shall write to her at once and request she allow you a little more leisure.

Everyone requires time to themselves—to enjoy a good book, walk out in the air or visit the shops.

Has she taken you to Bond Street yet? You must persuade her to go so you may select some new music.

I am greatly enjoying my time in Hertfordshire.

The country is quite different, but not in a disagreeable way.

I appreciate the milder weather, for I have been able to ride out every day.

There have been several shooting parties as well, and Netherfield’s dinner table has benefitted from our efforts.

Some evenings are spent away from the estate.

Most recently, we attended a soirée held by Sir William Lucas, a local knight fond of entertaining.

His parties, while rather crowded, always include the Bennets, who are their nearest neighbors.

When last I wrote, I mentioned the Bennets of Longbourn.

I have since learned more about the family and so can satisfy your curiosity.

Mr. Thomas Bennet is master of the estate.

I had the pleasure of conversing with him at the aforementioned soirée.

He is not fond of society, and so Sir William arranged a quiet sitting room for him during the evening—near enough to hear the festivities, yet far enough for peace.

He is a clever and engaging gentleman, and I look forward to our next exchange.

The lady of Longbourn is Mrs. Frances Bennet, though I believe her closest lady friends call her Fanny.

I must confess, I know little of her. She has paid me scarcely any notice, which is unusual.

I suspect she is aware of my fortune, yet never has she thrown her daughters in my way.

She is forthright and loud—rather reminiscent of our aunt, Lady Catherine.

I appreciate candor above all, and Mrs. Bennet does not disappoint in that regard.